


Disintegration

by Astrarian



Series: Writer's Month, August 2020 [23]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e08 Much More, F/F, Writer's Month 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrarian/pseuds/Astrarian
Summary: Tissaia drinks until everything’s lighter and fuzzier. Until she can think, “All the more reason to live tonight,” without immediately thinking, “Seeing as we might die.”(Writer's month 2020 - Day 23: poison)
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Writer's Month, August 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861909
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	Disintegration

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Jimmy Eat World's song of the same name.

Yennefer’s expression is always striking, from anger, or pride, or contempt. Typically negative emotions, to be sure, but undeniably energetic. There is always so much emotion in her that to suddenly see a bitter grimace on her face and hear detachment in her tone is a shock. 

Life has nothing left to give, Yennefer says, and Tissaia’s heart sinks. Those words erode her hope, too. The only thing she can think to say is what she knows as the truth: that even if life has nothing to give, _Yennefer_ has more to give.

But Yennefer only looks at her with a small frown. Tissaia doesn’t know how she can express her feelings any better than she already has. Her words aren’t enough of an explanation; they aren’t enough of an encouragement. They can’t change Yennefer’s mind or her heart, can’t make Yennefer see her own future. Tissaia knows it.

So she walks away, finishing her drink rapidly. She locates another mug of ale and tries to warm herself at the fireside, tries to push aside images of death. She tries not to think about Yennefer’s resignation or what the reality of Yennefer giving up her life would look like. But it’s hard to push it away when she’s seen Yennefer’s blood before.

The most accessible way to escape the sharpness of that image is ale. Alcohol will turn her soft and languid, taking all of the edges off. So Tissaia drinks until everything’s lighter and fuzzier. Until she can think, “All the more reason to live tonight,” without immediately thinking, “Seeing as we might die.”

When Vilgefortz smiles at her again, she smiles back around the rim of her mug. And when he moves away from the fire, maintaining lighthearted conversation with Vanielle but tossing an inviting look in her direction, Tissaia follows, first with her eyes and then with her feet, too—almost.

Because as she takes another gulp of ale and steps in his direction, head and nerves spinning ever-so-slightly, Yennefer intercepts her. She’s holding a mug of ale of her own, and she takes Tissaia’s elbow. 

Although the contact is light, the fact that it’s made at all takes Tissaia’s attention off her previous goal. She feels the touch all the way down to her toes. 

“Come with me,” Yennefer says.

Wherever Yennefer is, she leaves a wake that Tissaia is drawn to, has been ever since the start: her conduit moment, her defiance in Vengerberg, her first night in Aretuza when she opened her own veins and poured both blood and chaos into Tissaia’s ether. Changed both their lives.

Tissaia falls into step with her, and they move away from the fire, towards the shadows.

“Yennefer?” she asks.

Yennefer doesn’t speak. They move further into the shadows, beneath an archway that leads to an empty, ruined room beyond. The firelight at their back is blocked by the masonry, and Tissaia’s step wavers as everything grows noticeably darker.

“Yennefer?” Tissaia asks again, her breath coming more quickly, goosebumps rising on her skin.

Yennefer turns to her, eyebrows drawn down in a frown, making her look sullen and a little bit confused. Her violet eyes drill into Tissaia’s cheek, then her mouth, then directly into Tissaia’s own eyes.

Tissaia has never looked at Yennefer’s eyes so intently before. Even in the dark—especially in the dark—they are striking.

Yennefer lifts her mug of ale to her mouth. Tissaia does too, drinking from her own mug, the malty taste of beer heavy on her tongue as her eyes drift down from Yennefer’s vivid eyes to her lips.

All of a sudden Yennefer closes the gap between them, backing her against the archway, mouth inches from Tissaia’s own.

Caught off guard, a gasp of surprise snags in Tissaia’s throat. She presses her hand against Yennefer, not sure whether to pull her closer or push her away, until she feels her heart hammering as hard as her own.

Their abrupt clash means that ale has splashed the fronts of both of their dresses, damp against Tissaia’s fingers. The smell of lost inhibitions hangs heavy and heady between them. Everything’s dark and hot and her body tingles and she hears them both breathing unsteadily.

“Yennefer...” she says.

Yennefer’s eyes flicker to Tissaia’s again, wide, glassy in the limited light. Their bodies are so close together that her chest heaves against Tissaia’s, and when a tremor ripples through her it crosses to Tissaia instantly.

Tissaia discards her mug and arches up, finding Yennefer’s mouth with her own, heedless of further mess. There’s a harsh exhale, Tissaia’s not sure from whom, and the sound of Yennefer’s own mug clattering to the ground while Yennefer dips back for a moment due to the transfer of momentum. Then she huffs out a hot breath against Tissaia’s lips and roughly presses Tissaia back into the cold, hard wall. She wraps her hands in her hair and her tongue swipes against Tissaia’s.

Tissaia groans, losing herself in the resultant arousal that surges deep in her abdomen. She grips Yennefer’s jaw with one hand, pressing the other against Yennefer’s chest. Yennefer moans at her touch, which is a sound she’s never heard Yennefer make before, and Tissaia’s nerves thrum with ale and desire and desperation. She presses harder, keen to hear it once more; come the morning, she might never hear it again.

“Tissaia,” Yennefer gasps—a different noise, yet just as delicious. Her fingers cradle the pulse in Tissaia’s throat.

“Yes,” Tissaia replies, tugging Yennefer’s hand down her body, wordlessly repeating her earlier suggestion that they live tonight. Because Yennefer’s right, much as Tissaia hates it. They might not have tomorrow.

“Tissaia,” Yennefer says again. The wake of her touch lights Tissaia up and pulls her apart all at the same time.

“Yes,” Tissaia pleads.

They say no more.


End file.
